


Siren call

by fish_wifey



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, M/M, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-21
Updated: 2014-07-21
Packaged: 2018-02-09 20:28:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1996740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fish_wifey/pseuds/fish_wifey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kasamatsu studying, ignoring Kise and his surprise visit, becoming on edge with the presence of the latter. They end with a minor fight and resolve it in the best possible ways.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Siren call

**Author's Note:**

> This is easily my favourite fic for them. I overcame some emotional problems I had with a past relationship and I had sooo much fun writing their dynamics ;O;
> 
> I’m not sure it comes across well enough so I’ll explain beforehand: in my head, Kasamatsu would refer to Kise as ‘Kise’, to create some sort of imagined controlled distance, detaching his emotions from how he acts around him. Later, when he’s crumbled to Kise’s seducing and relaxes off-guard, this referring changes to Ryōta. 
> 
> Florence + the Machine's 'Bedroom Hymns' pulled me through the second part of the fic (where I had to overcome issues) and I like how it turned out ;A; it's actually my favourite kind of writing~

As many third-years, Yukio sits perched up till deep in the night to study for the entrance exams. It's early still on this particular night, fast drums beating down on his mind, quick guitar strums piercing his ears, a melodic voice changing to death growls. He knows a lot of his peers don't share the sentiment, but Yukio likes to study in-tune with the rock genre, headphones on perched on his ears, listening to his favourite bands (-or bands which don't suck too much). It's like this when he studies for the entrance exams, scientific studies be damned telling him music is counter efficient. And it's like this how he misses three missed calls and the first two unseen texts. It's the third buzzing through which finally catches his attention, and he flips his phone open to read the message.

It's Kise -obviously it can only be his own private idiot- the actual content of the text is worse than the sender. 'I'm in front at your door, open up!' Yukio takes off his headphones and stares at the words 'at your door' and when the bell chimes, it hits his guts. He's flinging the headphones away and is out of the door, chair still swinging. Running down at rapid speed down the stairs, he yells 'I GET IT!', slides with bare feet over the hall and opens the door, almost wrecking the poor thing, which wouldn't be such a bad idea; he'd an instant missile to swing at-

"Hello senpai!"

"To hell with 'hello', the fuck you doing here!?" He whisper-hisses at the half-bowing idiot carrying a little bag. Yukio is about to turn around and attack him with shoes too innocent to just lie around and be unhelpful in this constant battle against a freak genius.

"Visiting!"

"Don't be so fucking cheery, who said you could come?" He never did, Hell, he'd never brought people to his parent's house. It comes to his eyes within a second; the icons and numbers; three missed calls and two unseen texts, God knows what- "Anyway, I don't care. I don't have time, go home."

"Eeeeeeh? A visitor for Yukio? Dear, come in!" One second, Yukio's heart drops, and while he watched Kise waving at his mother (-"Kasamatsu-kaa-chan!"), the next he passed him by, and in the third he's behind Yukio, undoing his shoes and talking with his mother. "Yukio never brings friends over ("For good reason! You're nagging around, and why are you letting him in!?"), it's so rare to actual see they exist." He stops himself as he wants to yell 'teammates!' but Kise is charming his way in.

"Ahaha, is that so? Just as expected of our captain. He's always so focused."

"Isn't he a bit too much though? Ah, Yukio, close the door behind you dear, you're letting the cold in." He nearly enough slams it as his mother is in a fussy temper around Kise, who all but smiles his billion dollar smile as usual and dares to act flustered.

"Ah, he might be, but in a good way. I've come with some sweets, if you don't mind. Kasamatsu-senpai always does so much for the team and he forgets about himself, I'm here to cheer him up~!" Yukio's feet tremble, wanting to run and jump and aim and maim the bloody bastard's smiling face to a bloody pulp -how well would he look on photographs without teeth, huh!?

"I don't mind at all! Do stay! You'd like some tea? I made a pot just now. Yukio never drinks it, at least not with his family he doesn't. It's a bother, this son of mine." Yukio has to bear watching it with a grim pain in his jaw from keeping up a nice enough face and not yell Kise's ears off. Once his mother is done fussing over how gorgeous Kise is, how nice he is and what a good junior to an ungrateful Yukio, once she is done inviting him over by saying he's allowed in always and he got his tea now ("Of you go~ If you need anything, send Yukio to get it!"), 'ungrateful' Yukio all but kicks and hits Kise and his boiling tea up the stairs, hissing murderous intent without his family hearing it.

Inside his room, he has to hold back slamming the door, waits for Kise to put down the tea (-and make himself at home while he's on it), before he repeats his question.

"Why are you here, Kise?"

"Senpai, I tooold you, it's a visit. You didn't answer your phone and I worried, so I came right over! Anyway, details aside, I brought you something." Curiosity killed the cat, as he just learned the English proverb in his book (-God knows why he needs it, although it suits the situation quite well), and it definitely kills his frustrated anger; for now. He walks over and around his table, settles asides Kise and ("Here, senpai!") gets a tupperware package of chocolate covered cookies. Kise's grin never dies down, and he waits with hope as Yukio bites down on the first two.

"These are good."

"Right~!?"

"You didn't make them yourself." It's a statement as he puts them on his crossed legs, watching, dismantling an embarrassed Ryōta, who's manicured nail is scratching at his chin, trying to find excuses.

"Ah, ahaha~, senpai sees right through me... you know, I-"

"Don't tell me; you got them from a fan, unpacked them, put them in this plasticware, which you obviously got from a fan or a classmate once upon a time as well, and now you want to sell it to me like you baked them yourself. You really think I'm so stupid?"

"Sheesh, Kasamatsu-senpai, relax! I brought them along for you, isn't that what matters?" Yukio tells his feelings in actions, closing the lid and pushing it back rudely into Kise's chest.

"Go home, I've got shit to do and you're a nuisance." The protest is loud and whiny, Yukio ignores it as he goes back to his desk, grinding his teeth about idiots and stupid gestures and unneeded house visits -which he has to forbid the rest of the team on doing the first second they meet again, before they all come over in following the bad example Kise sets. Next thing you know, Hayakawa comes to visits. His family isn't ready for that day.

"You've studied since practice ended, right?"

"Yes," it comes out testily and without a backwards glance. He should have looked though, as arms slide over his shoulders and hands nearly reach his lap. Everything in Yukio shakes up a riot and, planting his feet firmly on the ground, sliding down for the barest nanosecond, the first thing he does is headbutting the chin resting on his hair. 

"Get off me!" Pleased when Kise listens without the usual whine and pleading 'senpaiii', he jumps out of his skin again when the other rolls over on the second chair, elbow leaning lazily on Yukio's desk and half his papers. The idiot actually dares to have an eyebrow questioning the needed work he's doing.

"Can't we do anything fun for now-?" He asks, rubbing at the hurt in his chin.

"I have to study!" It should be fucking obvious, really. Papers and opens books everywhere, dark circles under his eyes, empty cup of coffee. Doesn't Kise fucking get it?

"All you do is study nowadays! We never hang anymore, you hardly call me over at your own place, I only see you at practice, at school you're mostly inside the library, with a barrier of all these books to hide behind. I miss you!"

"Yeah well, what am I supposed to do, idiot? I can't go to any afternoon preparation classes because of I've got to be at the club for practice all the fucking time, even if I don't play myself. I have to create schedules, see to extra training for the first years, discussions with the coach who will be captain next year. I don't have fucking time to be bothered about you on top of everything else!" It comes out all wrong. He knew he started his speech quite normally, pressured, trying to explain. But the strain is showing, he hadn't had enough coffee to be around people, had too much and it's giving him an edge he didn't want to cut Kise with. At the end he's nearly yelling and about to hit and hurt; the fist balls, but the nails scratch at his roughened palm, trying to keep it in before it boils over.

Before he's able to push the oaf away (-before he can't stop himself doing the worst), lips press on his and a gentle, bittersweet pull captures his bottom lip. He's about to collapse, flip a table, smack Kise's face, kiss back with all he cares. Not letting on what it does to him, he stares into those golden eyes, blank. A default setting of ice cold he regards the world with.

"Is this all you came here to do for?" For a second it looks like a staring contest is about to begin, one Yukio would obviously lose because he could never handle the tall bastard's face so close and in front of him. "Don't annoy me too much." It's an actual invitation to stay until he's done, yet his tone has nothing nice to it, and it's the final straw for Kise, who pushes himself off angrily, walking over to the sitting area and drops down graceless (-graceful, asshole). For a second Yukio looks at him gathering magazines to his side of the table, flipping through the first one.

He thinks, "I'll hurry up." He thinks, "This doesn't take long, be content." He thinks, “I appreciate your concern.” He thinks, "I know how you feel, I missed you too." He thinks, without blushing, "Once I'm done we can do _this_ and _that_." 

He thinks, " _I love you_."

He says, "Behave."

"Yeah yeah, love you too, _senpai_." He let’s the insult heard in that sing-song address slide. Foreseeing this would happen and being at the point of clashing before the end of his third-year, were two different things. And still- Something felt different, too easy, too good. Sharp-edged words and un-gentle looks, grating on their nerves while being in the same room. It's not the first Yukio would have to apologize for his hectic and tempered behaviour, or for Kise to smile it off and hug him tight and apologize for always, always, always being such a pushy imbecile.

It's all unspoken words and unfinished touches, ending in a speechless, burning mess. Or if Kise has his depraved ways with him, finish Yukio off speechless and be all too smug about it.

Trying to read on the history of the English language and how it influenced the world as it is, his ears pick up the movement and sound of shuffling feet, tip-toeing across the room. For a moment, Yukio hopes he's coming for him, before he kills the thought with a nasty shake of an head. Just don't. When Kise goes out, fear rises he's either leaving or going to the living room to complain. Agonized at both options, Yukio looks at the open door, the wish to follow intensifying with every second he doesn't raise his fucking ass off to go after the idiot (-his idiot, his conscious likes to debate. Worry is a stone-cold corpse rotting on his insides and creating ghost-like murmurs against his beating chest).

Kise's head pokes around the corner, blinking with a surprised motion. "Where is the bathroom here, Kasamatsu-san?" There's a hidden, unreleased emotion crossing the room, one in which Kise is too fucking pleased when Yukio looks after him, turned his chair, a hand on the black armrest and back bend in mid-motion stand up. Nothing is said, Yukio hears an earful of it anyway, company given by a loud laugh so self-pleased and obnoxious.

"Second to your right." Bastard, he thinks and shows with his furrowed brows. He's so done with Kise, can only shake his head at the retreating, smiling wreckage slaying his life to ruins and dances on the crumbled walls of what once had been Yukio's hard, never-to-be-breached castle of non-affection, as if it changed to a bloody parade with broken heartstrings and telling back scratches of lust.

Relaxing back and instantly focusing on his readings and checking the little test to a complete state, he listens for the flushing of the toilet. Accompanied by hands being washed, a whistling tune enters back into the hall and into the room, along with a craving which eases itself between his ribcage with every second he stays seated, a longing once labeled to be Kise's own heroin, claimed as his very own brand of personified want.

"Shut up, that song is stupid."

"Oh, you want me to sing something else for you?" Kise forwards his body, eager and way too happy with a task to bring any form of involvement and participating within the threads of Yukio's half-composed study life. Instead, he’s meeting the sound teeth grinding at the thought, down to naught, and Yukio blinks a well-said ‘no’ to himself before he opens his mouth for the vocal showdown.

"No, stay the fuck silent as long as you're here, understood?" He's about to bring the order home with an angry stare, but Kise beats him before he's able to turn his stiff neck. All of a sudden, Kise has turned the chair and kneels down in front of Yukio, who all but fucking dies at the sight. He didn't see it coming, and his hand blindly searches for a book to hit the Ryōta with.

"Want me to do anything else, then? I can use my mouth without saying a word, you know?" Fuck him if he didn't. It's too freaking lewd, too fucking embarrassing, too inviting to say no too. Kise knows how to get under his skin, and crawls with easy nails over Yukio's knees, widening them. A brow is up, as well as one corner of the mouth, Kise too bloody sure of himself to expect no for an answer. Yukio envisions it for a second, talks himself towards it, believing he can still go to work afterwards and maybe with a better feeling too.

He irons his will into a non-compromise, slams his hand hard on Kise's forehead and watches him tumble on his ass.

"I can also kick your mouth to pieces and gain the silence myself, idiot! We had a deal, now stick to it if you want to stay here." He turns without an apology anywhere seen in his posture, grabs the pencil and nearly breaks it, tries to calm down with the thought of coffee and it's aroma; a placebo to do the trick, too...

"Sheesh, and this while you should calm yourself...Senpai is surely a tight-ass today." He hears the body pulling itself up, Kise crawling on hands and knees back to his seat in front of the table, sighing, still with his sweet, unworried hum.

Ticking another box in with his pencil, hearing a page fall behind him. It goes on like this in the requested silence for another half an hour, until the strain in his neck became too hardcore not to rub it with an annoyed grunt. Seconds later, a suspicion sneaks in portraying Kise to be a freak, to have copied a snake to do this, as another hand joins in, warming up the space of skin. A warmth he doesn't deserve, wants to lean into, feels like he could lose himself in it's caress.

"Need a massage?" _Yes, please_.

"No, thanks." Yukio changed his tone for this one time, unable to defy sentiment any longer, when Kise behaved so well to a total jerk’s actions. The hand disappears, a pining scratch of nails from the nape of the neck to the shoulder, where kisses are normally used to light the embers. It seems like days, no, weeks since the moment passed. Too long ago, too much to do. Kise is gone in an instant, returning to his self-assigned seat on the ground and back to the magazine. Apparently, his changed tone must have been all imagined in his head and didn't come across. Yukio blames his lack in experience to deal with a partner, who is so demanding and selfish, while trying to be helping and giving comfort.

It comes like lightning, sharp and bold and awful.

"I would've expected you to give more than a damn every once in a while. Or is it really just me who gives a shit about us, Yukio?" The first name rolls off with a spit-fire intention, the bullet is cast and the gun smokes. Keeping himself from looking behind him and flipping the answer sheet over (-scared shitless for what a face he'd see, unable to keep it pent up inside if he did), Kise actually reloads, "Guess it's really just me who's terrified, then."

"What the Hell are you on about?" Damn him, to act like he doesn't know, when all the while he easily does. Moving away, becoming busy, meeting new people, not seeing the old team; the thoughts crossed his mind daily, either beginning or ending with a male of sunshine-born antics. He cannot be like Kise, neither as carefree or mindless, although Kise claims to not be so heedless. The chair is turned for him, and he lazily sits back and stares up where Kise hovers over him (-it's out of his hands if the other just takes what he wants anyway, but it's exactly the face Yukio wouldn't have wished to see).

"It's only a few weeks we have left. It's studying now, you not coming to school or the basketball club, exams later, entrance exams afterwards, then graduation. You'll leave, without giving a fuck about what it will do to me. Have you really never thought of it?" All the time are the words on his mind, you're just to blind to see it is on his lips, there's nothing to be afraid of, idiot, sticks to his tongue. As many a sentiment Yukio created, they all back down to die within his throat and leave him cold and bare. Actions always spoke louder than words, and it's actions he's resolves to. Old habits die hard, Yukio's hit-first-speak-later habit dies never. The kick in the shin is rough and Kise flinches, but stands his ground.

"You're a handful. Get out of my way." He carefully says 'way' instead of 'sight', not wanting to create a misunderstanding before he said his piece in full. Kise follows the order slowly, if with hesitation. As if he can feel the underlying emotions boiling up, taste them as he chases a memory on his lips with a peeking tongue -it's been too long. A moment longer, and Yukio would have given in, grab the shirt with both hands and bring Kise- Ryōta down, down to whatever Hell they would end up anyway. It's a second he waits, and Kise moves away, reluctantly stepping away.

Given back space and freedom to maneuver, Yukio releases himself from the chair and settles at the spot where the cookies are nearest, takes one in his mouth and munches while Kise gravitates towards the spot closest, and safest, near Yukio.

"You think it's over once I enter university."

"Isn't it so? These days, we barely see each other in our free time."

"I want to do well now, so I can have more time for important things like you later on. Enjoy it without pressure."

"Yeah yeah yeah, I knew you'd gonna say that. You got your priorities damn well backwards if you don't consider me- wait, what? Come again?" Yukio stares at him, the same 'you're an idiot' face he gives him so often, softened by 'but I love you anyway'. He doesn't say it though, Kise's ego is big enough as it is. No boosting strokes needed.

"I said, I'd rather go full throttle now with studying, so we can hang afterwards. Don't mishear things, asshole."

It takes a moment until Kise- Ryōta smiles softly. Yukio feels it in the atmosphere, takes another cookie and pushes Ryōta's leg aside, finding a nook and cranny in this complaisant and uncomplicated body to lean on and be welcomed. They could have it so easy.

"You're a handful, I hope as much as this you know yourself."

"Hey, I could say the same." The words are half whispered on his hair, lips crossing to the forehead, towards one eyebrow, letting Yukio close his eye and have the lid kissed. Turning his head in pace not to push _Ryōta_ off, he times it right to have hungry teeth pulling at his bottom lip, before he gives himself up for a kiss. Letting the sweetness of the crumble he tastes flow over to Ryōta, an unsaid thank you from the bottom his heart.

Ryōta only stops once, a mutter of where Yukio is going to university.

'Somewhere close', is all he whispers on lips too eager, hasty in their need and ravenous. Fingers hold his jaw and Ryōta pushes his tongue back in, drinks up all the meanings and swallows them with a heavy heart so full of love.

Sitting up by pushing on one hand, Yukio slides up Ryōta's chest with his back, deepening the kiss once he gets better hold. Hands in the blond hair, keeping close and telling all his non-vocal feelings the only way he knows how to use his tongue with it. Ryōta's hand slides between Yukio's body and his arm, over his chest, stroking one minute and undoing buttons the next. Unable to control himself, Yukio turns around full, pressing Ryōta's legs apart for good measure and sliding his palms down the inner thighs. When Ryōta has to pause and take a breath, he hits him on the head, before he slides his legs over and sits on the other's lap.

You're important to me, idiot. But don't get ahead of yourself, is what he thinks and says with his eyes. Ryōta gets it, somehow always gets it in the end or along the way, smiling warmly and winking like the Devil made a deal. Yukio attacks his mouth, his jaw, the throat, hearing whispers of his name breathed against his hair and his neck, fingers sliding under his shirt.

"Let me stay over," Pondering the request while his tongue circles around the junction of neck and shoulder, teeth bite down tentatively. It's too bright in his room, his parents are still awake and watching TV, it's so early still.

Later. Just study another hour, make sure the mother stays away, put out the light.They have time enough to make it lasts, to sit quietly in the dark, fingers crossing over arms and hips and legs and jaws, a harsh flick here, a bite there, getting real physically after the foreplay. Yukio nods, unable to stop the Ryōta in the tackle following, the thirty kisses he cannot push away with his hand -couldn't, because he doesn't want to. Ryōta always does his number on him, slays him where he stands, his undoing and his bane and the only person he has ever let in. Trust is made of iron and they heat it up, mold it again and again and a-fucking-gain.

Yukio bites the bottom lip one last time before the heat actually gets to him in ways he won't be able to stop, pushes himself off and steadies his legs mentally before standing up. Patting the golden head (-looking up in a impish way to melt his knees at sight. Bloody bastard), saying it this time out loud.

"I won't be too long. Be good, ok?" He doesn't offer him anything else, only a worded promise sealed with a wanting look. Successfully, it comes across this time when he has to balls to speak up, and Ryōta turns back to the table and reads on his the monthly basketball magazine.

How could Ryōta ever believe they'd fall apart after his graduation, when he is so unready on backing off now already?

*~*~*

Nothing like proving it, right?

And Yukio does so, with every thrust, with every lick lining a heart, some go unnoticed within their speedy spiraling down of heady and erratic movements. What Ryōta notices are the whisper-hummed lullabies and sweet-loving 'need you's told to his hot skin and the reddened, pierced earlobe, before the silver ring gets sucked between lips along with the earlobe and kissed. It doesn't go unnoticed when Yukio pulls up one of those long, silky shaven legs and puts them on his waist, finding a long-wanted answer to all their problems in the exact right angle. Fucking into it without a care how unmaking it is for Ryōta, muffling his own moans in the cushion Ryōta lies on, while sweet symphonies are bitten down in a pale shoulder. Holding onto dear life, creating deep, red circles on Yukio's upper arm, clenching his leg to the side of the ribcage and bruising it, his other leg weirdly estranged with one of Yukio's, feet to the calve and trying not to push too much, afraid for an injury.

All details leading to an outburst, when Yukio murmurs how pathetic it is, fingers curling in the folds of the messy blankets and in the locks of golden hair, locking eyes when he gets his heavy lids to open up and gaze down into those voidless, lust-black orbs carrying the world's hard-gotten answers to Yukio's hard-sought after questions. It's a kiss too erratic to keep intact, lips brushing over lips and past the jaw and tasting skin gone hot and cold once already in the past half hour.

Within the darkness of nighttime, their secrets are kept hidden behind closed doors and shut down windows and heavy curtains, their blackened hearts cut up and bleeding it all out. Yukio is shaking where he hovers on elbows and knees, his hands busy with shoulders and hair and a face too sweet not too touch and praise with kisses. The sounds of their voices are kept to a minimum whisper, whenever their heads weren't too clouded to think of words to say. The rest is bitten down bottom lips, raging kisses, staining each other's skin with burgundy red marks of tongues mixed with suction and harsh, claiming bites saying 'mine' with every tooth pricking the shell.

There's nothing empty cold and icy left inside of Yukio, all taken up to arms and destroyed if not warped and changed to Ryōta's liking. The freaking monster undoes him as easily as copying his moves while playing, unsmiling with the knowledge he can break Yukio apart whenever he wants, whenever he opens his leg for him and let him have it all. Lying on his back is not a sign of giving up control; within Ryōta's grasps, it's all but taking control, making sure Yukio could die in his arms from too much love and too much exhaustion and the famish of more still beating upon his shoulders and pumping through his veins.

Reaching the moment where pressure extends to being unbearable, Ryōta's arms sling around Yukio's neck, bringing their heads down with a pain crashing skull-to-skull they cannot care about now. Keeping him close, Yukio keeps his power-thrust up until Ryōta tightens around him, screaming through his teeth biting down on somewhere new for the last time, locking teeth around bone as painful as is it pleasurable, leaking on himself and being slain and unable to move and inch afterwards. The sight of it is the final push for Yukio's stomach to clench up and have his orgasm spill out in as much words as he always keeps down to die, finally able to say them freely and with such honest meaning, and they cannot be mistaken or forgotten. His seed releases in one big and a few tougher rolls of his hips, before he eradicates all the space between their torso's and collapses on the dirty mess they sinned together.

He suffocates within a sweet death by pressing his head into the nook of Ryōta's neck and shoulder, nose and mouth pressed to the wicked scent he cannot inhale. For a change, it's Ryōta patting his head for once, huffing a laugh and praising his remarkable skills.

"God.. you're merciless. Fucking...killed me.." Yukio finds the strength to turn his head, pressing his nose to a cheek and moves just an inch away to finally breath again, letting his lungs fill with the musky air and golden love Ryōta radiates for him.

"You're a murderer too...can't fucking move anymore." Ryōta has the decency to blush and hide his eyes behind a hand, the other's fingers trailing through the short black hair. Mimicking the move, another laugh rings as joyful as an angel's song from the sweet-loving lips, when Yukio's hand go through the blond hair. Before they can lay like this for a while, Yukio gathers enough strength to move despite his words, pushing himself up and out and feeling the aftermath of his orgasm leak out between Ryōta's legs. It's the second time, and the boy beneath him is sensitive for every breath Yukio exhales, shivering.

His mind tells him to release the blond hair or get his arm out from where it's trapped beneath Ryōta's shoulder, to get a blanket over them. Contemplating to have Ryōta do it himself, the thought falls asleep when he finally calms down his crazy heartbeat.

"Yukio," Ryōta waits for recognition, get's none, but talks on. "I'm hungry."

Laughing with a 'tsk' against the throat, whose pulse is also back to normal, Yukio is unable to shake his head, let alone hit Ryōta, with his arms being made of jelly.

"And thirsty. I could do with a milkshake right now."

"Anything else for prince charming?"

"Yeah...don't move away." The other arm on his back is tightens for a bit, a brief one-armed hug. Settling again, Yukio is about to rant about the indecision of his ace, when his own stomach rumbles.

"Now, you've got to promise not to raid it all in one go. But your left hand should be able to reach a secret passage down my bed and onto a box-"

"What, you got food hidden? Here!?"

"Yes, I always keep a pack of-"

"Just how old are you!? Unbelievable, to keep snacks hidden in a place like that, at your age. Are you sure you can enter university like this, senpai?" Yukio really tried this time; he got as far as raising his elbow. But the hand about to ball to a fist and hit Ryōta anywhere he could reach, stays flaccid and returns without much riot to the mattress, pounding it a tiny little bit. The fight has been ridden out of him.

"Do you want to eat it or not? It's fudge, you probably know it." Most likely. Ryōta liked sweets and all sorts of sweetened shit. 

"Yeah I do...and yeah I want to get it but...my arm's too tired, senpai." He pouted, the words translating to the fact he doesn't want to lose the embrace for the unimportant need of sustenance. Yukio couldn't move either, wouldn't think of it even if his stomach would create a mayhem sound, too unable as he just has shown. Something Ryōta doesn't forget as quickly as he hoped.

"If you can't hit me, I can say any nonsense on my mind right now and not get the punishment, right?"

"Kise..." He lays enough true-intended furiosity in it to be menacing and scary, but it goes by in a flash of words, mocking him with every syllable sing-songed onto his forehead.

"Damn, senpai, your butt truly looks like marble. I can move my arm just not enough to pinch it with my hand-"

"Kise."

"Or would you like me to use my fingers a bit deeper than that? I mean, with you unmoving like a dead man, not even putting a cover over our naked souls...it's just an invitation for more, mhn?" Someone else would be a dead man if he wouldn’t shut the fuck up.

"You're getting yourself up for 'more' if you keep on threatening, idiot."

"Aaah, you say it as if I believe it to be a bad thing, as if it’s not _exactly_ what I want, senpai..."

He's done for. Definitely. Walked right in this one. "Give me ten more minutes and a piece of that fucking fudge, damnit."

~*~*

Brushing blond locks out of his face, he didn't entirely blame Ryōta; he couldn't obviously help himself from grinning smugly at Yukio. Lying on his side, arms and legs a useless slump of jelly-rotten limbs, Yukio left defenseless, made to stare at this half-God he just crushed and broke beneath him, now up first and looking down on him.

"Fucking asshole," He said it out loud, creating an even wider grin reaching the golden eyes with a new sparkle and intensity. Eyes hungering for something Yukio wasn’t ready to give again. Ryōta settled down with a soft plumb noise, a small exchange in glances debating on how to lie down together as they caught their breath. Yukio huffed, turned, and showed Ryōta his back. Blankets resettling around their bodies, he felt the instant glue of the sweaty little shit behind him, arms desperate to surround and cage his weakened state, as if Yukio’s weight meant nothing, him light enough and about to fly off (-fun analogy; he was sometimes, remotely, seconds-during scared Ryōta would be the one to do so; fuck the hierarchy, fuck Kaijou, _not_ fuck with him, swoop away like he'd be most pleased to do so, be whisked off from his grasp and out of this country, flying stateside and never return to smile at a teeth-grinding, eyes-tightening, incapable captain).

The deep inhale from Ryōta tickled his neck, but he didn't shiver. Concentrating on the chest pumping in, wondering just how the Hell he ended up getting something like this for himself.

"Oh God, you smell even better after. I can never tire of it." Yukio blushed, knowing he couldn't be seen. Ryōta gave away compliments like he gave away smiles, but certain species of both arts were Kasamatsu-specialties, designed and kept for those steel blue eyes only, seen or felt or heard, never only just his imagination. Bigger problems were coming his nefarious way; one of Ryōta's arms trapped itself lovingly beneath Yukio's side, but the immobility didn't extend to the hand, long fingers roaming Yukio's front, nails scratching. Together with the leg stretching between Yukio's, it gave out one solid, bold message.

"Again? Jesus, don’t you ever tire?"

"I'm telling you, senpai," Lewd little asshole, licking the last heady whispered word into Yukio's earshell. "Your smell is an aphrodisiac, my very own special brand, getting me drunk on it." The other hand's nails scratching at his hipbone, the iron will inside of him didn't let him twitch and shiver into those all-consuming, wanton touches. Yukio got off on it anyway, closing his eyes and letting those license-to-kill lips talk their very sweet way into his soul, getting whatever he wanted by a word of asking for it. Once he's serious about something, Ryōta had the irritating habit to lower his voice, bring out a deep bass he kept hidden in the depths of his ribcage and exhale it out into the world to wreck it, slam-dunking Yukio within it.

"I could fucking do you, you know that? And I think you'd let me, too..." They'd switched here and there, trust extending to the kind where it enabled Yukio to widen his legs, close his eyes and say yes. The tongue playing at their favourite place north of the stomach, circling the nape of the neck with practiced ease. One day, Ryōta had decided to use his 11 centimeters of superior height difference to his sexual advantage, and sneaked up on Yukio. 

Taking both legitimate reasons for granted, the attack on his free neck begun with kisses and tongues, leading to teeth and words too sweet to remember but never bitter to forget about. Crumbling where he lay, itching to pay back the loathed bastard in kind if not with interest, yet not turning around, rather curling in on himself and inviting Ryōta in, Yukio losing the balance in this not-so-pushing power play. Instead of disheartening the other's boyfriend duties to get their edge off to a butter-soft blade, Ryōta took it by the bare threat they hung on, enticed to keep on talking, touching, seducing Yukio with all his sexual prowess.

"God, you're so sexy...I don't think I can hold it in much longer..." It is the last drop, certain comments too hard to grasp the truth of it. An elbow to the ribs, never meant to be good for sex, and so it became the thing Yukio did to get Ryōta to release him, being able to sit up and smush a hand over his own face in shame _what the Hell am I doing?_ and through his hair _why the Hell am I not let him do the 'doing'?_

"Really, how many times have I told you now...shut up." He never counted the weeks which changed to months, never spared a thought to pin-point the exact moment he'd fallen; Yukio could not get used to certain kind of 'compliments', so easily thrown at him from every corner they could come, so bashfully said to his face or his body and always his aching soul. The speaker never ashamed of anything while it doubled on Yukio's consciousness, who reacted as badly to them in the last of times as in the first of times (-the very first time Ryōta voiced his thinking of Yukio being beautiful, had turned ugly. Throwing a full trash bin at Ryōta had seemed a pretty good reaction at the time, as well as letting the kouhai pick the mess he'd made up himself. He'd never forgiven himself the moment he lost control, remembering the pout and tearful eyes and nimble fingers and the muttered words of _but I meant it, senpai, I swear…_ ). 

He heard movement behind him, the mattress creaking under the added upsitting second man. Lips, sweet as sugar, were glued to his shoulderblade, a tongue poking out to trace the bones hiding, sending freaking lightning bolts through the marrow. Yukio opened his eyes and gazed over the slumping form, who made himself smaller and less threatening behind him. Nails scratching along his body with lust, now upturned, their backs calming on either of Yukio's thighs -Godfucked idiot and his jesus blessed gorgeous golden eyes apologizing as they just gazed over the one of the many newly made marks upon the bitten shoulder.

Yukio could never stay mad at him long, not when Ryōta’s perfect nose nuzzled his skin and he felt the nervous inhale. Fucker knew it too, but didn't misuse his power. All the while, Yukio kept getting his temper into overdrive over sweetly muttered words that meant nothing- _everything_ -and feeling bad about it. Giving another kiss, Ryōta moved his head away enough to speak up and be heard, finger now circling on a kiss mark created an half hour earlier on Yukio's right thigh.

"Lie down again...?" No rolling of the eyes, no grunt, no cold hard stare. A simple, unreadable glance crossed over from Yukio to Ryōta, one which didn't make the beggar smile triumphantly, eased the tense shoulders, upmove one corner of the mouth to show he's glad enough his senpai isn't mad anymore. Yukio moved, making Ryōta move in-sync with him, bringing himself with his back on the mattress, having Ryōta droop over one side of his body, touching one of those madly active legs and rooting it between his two own. With one hand now on Ryōta's back, while he’s lying sweetly but still sexually active against him, sighing happily now they were both horizontal once more.

The grin came upon Yukio's biceps, and he didn't know if he moved Ryōta's leg with his hand, with a tiny pressure in his fingers, or if the devil himself luring in him with his lighthouse fired embers.

"Who's becoming so horny so quickly now, Kasamatsu-san?"

"Goddamn you, Kise." _Start already_ , the command followed without a dominated smirk, Ryōta too eager to please (-not just himself, never only himself. If they played, they somehow fought for keeps. A battle between the sheets, one they both won in the very end). An open mouth brought open kisses, heady intakes of breath and skin and smell, before the tongue couldn't keep it back and graced the skin in circles and flat licks, accompanied from wanton noises. Not simply kissing one of the two arms which were strong enough to raise him up, keep him up, drag his sorry ass from one part of the world to the next, steady him when he threatened to fall and held him at night when Ryōta wanted to sob against him, apologize a hundred times for his weaknesses on the court and his incapability as the so-called ace, saying he always hated to be associated to the generation of miracles, proclaiming to be their weakest link, just like he showed against Touou. The weakest in Kaijou as well, apologizing to Yukio for all his shortcoming and letting him down, apologizing for having betrayed the trust his upperclassmen had put so readily in him, apologizing for Yukio who always had to hit, kick, or headbutt him back into reality. Ryōta, unable to speak when his tongue put to use in other ways, his meanings coming across just as loud as clear as his earlier spoken words, as bright and warm as his smiling faces and kind-red eyes and spirited confessions of love and hunger and desperately needing Yukio in his life, at least forever and a lifetime for starters, Kasamatsu-san. Yukio disabled, yet his hearing worked just fine; that particular pitch making Ryōta a begging mess to be taken again and again against the mattress already soiled with their previous deeds.

Yukio couldn't keep his own mouth shut either, joined in, creating a pressure through his fingertips signaling Ryōta's leg to move quicker, push harder. He hardened by the soft inner thigh, skin he destroyed with his mouth, leaving haywire burgundy red marks in his wake within the hollow and emptiness of white skin, fever hot beneath his lips, trembling through his words, unmoving by the hold of Yukio's hand. He never bit the tender skin down there, creating those forceful, bloody attempts on shoulders and harder muscles only.

"Please, Yukio..." There’d never had been as much as a demanding touch from Ryōta, the sinner pausing his licks enough to ask nicely. Eager to get it on as well, Yukio followed suit, pushing his own leg between Ryōta's.

Four seconds in, Hell broke loose.

Seven seconds of gyrating up the hardening length, and Ryōta couldn't hold it.

Bringing himself up on his forearms, Ryōta hovered over Yukio, his head pushed into the cushions and at Yukio's ear, his lower body gyrating madly over Yukio's thigh. Lips whispering incoherently, but the meaning came across just as well. They've learned to speak with their eyes a thousand words, track poems on each other's bodies with tongues; Yukio's fingers played out tunes only he could find, while Ryōta's speciality lay in those gorgeous smiles of his, holding universal answers of existence and being and living and staying here with him even if it killed either one or both of them. They could have spoken another language and still understand what Ryōta tried to say; at times, no such things were needed, back to back, they still vibrated through wave lengths what they wanted.

Yukio heard it, Ryōta's need to hug him close, to keep him around, to know this to be okay, to feel the non-regret and wanted him to stick around.

And Ryōta became able to read when he should leave him alone, whenever he needed space, whenever the heat became unbearable and he would choke, so he gave him the cooling space of the night time and would let their backbones be the only linked touch.

The bitter aftertaste it left could often be too much to cope with. They spiced it up in the end or through it, hardened warriors, not backing away from a fight, no matter how bloody the outcome of their emotional messes. 

"It's astonishing...how insatiable you are." The same thing counted for himself too, obviously, never getting enough of this body twisting around him, even if he lied to himself and pushed it away, trying to beg the soul inside to forgive his horrid manners and come back, try again, keep trying because Yukio had a brickhead instead of a fragile skull, while fragility hid inside any of his touches and kisses and looks and little words.

Bringing his hands to Ryōta's hips, he tried to stabilize those haphazard movements, create a rhythm, bring him peace. It turned the other on instead, making him plead, following those hands creating an even more unpaced movement of his hips. Trying to give rhythm to this waves of pleasure appeared presented itself an impossible task. Needing him closer, Yukio's hand rushed up instead, gripping golden locks and bringing Ryōta down-

he actually wanted to say something, sadly, his tongue got lost along the way, flicking against the silver ring, lips brushing for a moment, then sucking at the earlobe, making Ryōta muffle his moans into the cushion, having those hips snap even harder, that cock riding up and down his thigh and leaving a thin stain

-Yukio, somehow able to gather enough senses to form words and speak them out into the hot, reddened earshell.

"How do you want it?" He felt the shaking limbs collapse, five words enough to break Ryōta apart, who hardly moved, driven by pure need for more of whatever those words entangled. Yukio used the sudden silence and licked his fingers, brought them-

tried to bring them down but his wrist got captured, his fingers trapped inside a freakishly hot mouth, tongue licking saliva over, under, between two fingers before being released and abled and approved to set out what they were meant to do in the first place

-to Ryōta's ass, whose legs widened to give easier access. When the fingers went in, Ryōta became very still, until Yukio brought them in to the second knuckle. It took him off guard how easy they went inside...

Ryōta possessed certain kinds of strengths beyond the point of human possibilities. Although Yukio had seen it for himself, surprise ruled him flat when Ryōta moved himself on his arms again, a yearning passing before his right hand went into the raven hair, keeping himself steady by treading fingers through those roughened up mess of murder locks. The left one trailed along Yukio's side, settling on the hip, asking it to move as close as possible as Ryōta aligned their bodies again. Mesmerized, Yukio’s fingers moved on auto-pilot, his bottom lip pulled and sucked. He couldn't close his eyes, fluttered the lids in flashes when the heat and the sight became too much to fucking be also looking at this face to turn up in his wildest dreams and created a mess of his mind afterwards. And then Ryōta's leg went from the inside to the outside, both now widened on either side of Yukio's.

He could have joked about Ryōta's earlier declaration of fucking him. That cruelty lost within the thoughtless space of his empty head, because all he saw and all he wanted, right above him, readying himself and moving without a tease. Ryōta's alignment brought their cocks together, which he slowly moved. Ryōta's answer to how he wanted it clear, and Yukio smiled. One tiny smile given before their lips couldn't keep off each other a second longer, losing itself in the start of a slow, heady kiss, tongues running along in-sync with their downstairs movements. It wouldn't take too long and they would probably die from exhaustion and not wake up until the sun came up and they'd die of shame again if anyone saw them like this.

No damns were given to those second-during thoughts when they dared to open their eyes and huff out breath and whisper their little declarations of idiocy on the other's lips, uncaring for whatever shame they had inside and letting it all out just one more time. All hail to those everlasting, ever repeating bedroom hymns.


End file.
